A Sweet Smell
by lrigD
Summary: What exactly did Scabior smell? My little story of how Hermione got to wear that particular perfume. Took on a life of its own; hope you enjoy!


**_Well, I saw the movie last night and I wanted to write something about it._**

**_I was just wondering why Hermione, always the practical one, was wearing perfume when she stood so close to the Snatchers (how hot was that leader guy, by the way?). It's not a very practical thing to carry along - so I thought of something. I hope you enjoy!_**

And none of it is mine, thankfully!

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She looked around quickly – Ron and Harry were both outside, discussing something or other she was not particularly interested in hearing about. She was alone in the tent, a moment of solitude she felt she desperately needed.

Just thinking about it made her heat up – she could feel a blush spreading to her cheeks, and quickly faced away from the opening of the tent, from which she could just see Ron standing.

The very reason of her blush.

She could not stop the soft emotion spreading through her at the thought of last night. Amidst their daily routine, the ever-pressing weight of the locket, it had been a great relief to be able to spend a few moments without its pressure.

They had shared an unusually cozy night. Autumn had fallen and it had begun to get colder, so, in a rare attempt to recreate the warmth she remembered from camping trips with her parents, she had bygone the usual small bluebell flames for a larger fire. The warmth had spread through the tent quickly and when it had been Harry's turn to take the locket from Hermione, she had cast it away. She'd claimed that Harry needed a good night's sleep and wearing the locket made him restless, but the truth was she simply hadn't wanted to ruin this night with the depressing Locket, or even the mere thought of their quest ahead. Even though Ron was the one most affected by the locket, they were all less pleasant people when they wore the locket. Neither of them liked it, but they had all agreed it was the best way to keep it safe, and thus, they had no choice.

The night had been untainted with the usual depressing mood: instead, it had almost felt like the old days back at Hogwarts, when they were the last ones up and had sat by the fireplace, talking of everything and nothing and sharing little moments of friendship.

And yet, it had been different.

Had their always been this undertone between them? She had certainly always felt a certain something when she was around him, but now, Harry was noticing. She'd seen him looking from her to Ron, and she had been glad to see a smile on his face in those instances, a rare moment away from the frowns that usually accompanied him these days.

Maybe he was okay with it.

Whatever _it_ was.

Afterwards, they'd gone to bed with smiles on their faces – Harry had not worn the locket– and she thought that maybe, they'd get through this after all.

She'd woken in the middle of the night. It was hard to tell what had woken her: she hardly ever slept through the night anymore, instead twisting and turning in her bed until she either fell asleep again, or it was time to wake up. Thankfully, years of studying well past bed-time had given her good tolerance for little sleep.

Sometimes, Ron's snores guided her back to sleep – sometimes, Harry's deep, rhythmic breathing.  
But this time, Ron's sounds had been absent, and she'd lifted her head to see him sit on the edge of his bed, looking at– was he looking at her? Or just in her general direction? –

If it had been any other night, she'd have felt too awkward to let him know she was awake. The atmosphere between them had been somewhat charged lately, although with what, she could not clearly say.

But this night, still basking in the warmth of their shared evening, it had been different.

So she'd gotten up without a word and moved over to his bed, which was directly across from hers. By the light of one single bluebell flame, she could hardly see him, but she somehow _knew_ he was looking at her with surprise in his eyes, wondering why she was up, why she was walking over to him.

She hadn't said a word – partly afraid to ruin the mood, partly afraid to even _set_ any mood – but sat down next to him, closer than usual, a closeness resembling the way she felt their relationship was. Harry was her best friend, and Ron was too, and yet he was so much more, something she could not put into words but something which was undeniable _there_.

And then he surprised her. She hadn't moved an inch, but he moved closer to her, touched her hand, which had been resting on her lap. She turned her palm upwards almost automatically and he grabbed her hand.

It had been a wonderful feeling. His hand, so much larger than hers, enveloped hers and made her feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with his body heat.

Ron cleared his throat; the sudden sound startled her.

"Last night was nice," he said, in a soft voice so unlike him she just barely managed not to turn her head to look at him in amazement.

"It was," she agreed in an equally soft voice.

"Good thinking, too, not letting Harry wear the locket," he continued, sounding a bit more like himself. She was both disappointed and relieved, but merely nodded, before remembering he couldn't really see her. Instead she just said "Yeah", hoping it was enough. She sounded scratchy.

"D'you think it'll be over soon?" he asked her, and he sounded so uncharacteristically again, so small and truthful. She knew what he was talking about.

"I hope so," she told him. "I'm getting rather tired of seeing this tent every day, to tell you the truth." She wanted to make clear it wasn't _him_ she was growing tired of, or Harry. Their company, although often sullied, was very much welcome.

"Yeah, me too," he said gruffly. Her hand was still in his. She wondered if he could feel how she felt at the moment – wondered if he could feel how comfortable she was with their hands linked. It was the most delicious torture, this a heady feeling combined with a strange nervousness.

They had sat like that for a while – not saying anything, but keeping each other company. The tent was pleasantly warm for once and the feeling of their hands together was comforting in a delicious way.

She tried to ignore her drooping eyes and the way her head fell forward every now and then. She didn't want this moment to end – not now, not ever.

But he saw it; of course he did. Instead of untangling their hands and directing her to bed, he simply took his free hand and softly pushed her head towards his shoulder.

She was too surprised to even think about protesting, and once her head was against his shoulder, she couldn't remember why she'd even wanted to protest.

However, they had gone to bed shortly after that – although she had been extremely comfortable (and from his silence, she'd gathered he had been, too), she knew they needed to go to bed. So it was with reluctance that she eventually stood up, and he did too. They parted without awkwardness, and this morning hadn't felt any different either.  
But _she_ felt different.

She felt like she'd grown in just one night – she felt like she'd lost of a little bit of the girl Hermione and gained a bit of womanhood. It was a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one.

She was shaken out of her reverie by a noise from outside – Ron poked his head around the tent flap. "Everything alright in here?" he asked her, a lopsided grin on his face – last night was still on all their minds.  
"Everything's fine," she reassured him. "I'm just thinking."  
"Well, there's something new," Ron muttered, but it wasn't with bad intention.  
She smiled at him and took a moment to really see him. His hair was shaggy, shaggier than ever, she'd have to cut his hair someday soon. His blue eyes were twinkling and they evoked something in her. When he turned away from her, she admired his lanky form.

After another moment of contemplation, she turned towards her handbag. She hadn't worn it in a while – not since Bill and Fleur's wedding, actually–, but today, she just felt like it.

Smiling, she took out the bottle of perfume, which she had put into her handbag on a whim. Maybe it was time to give life a sweet smell again.

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_**Well, this took on a life of its own - but I still like it. I know the tenses are all over the place but I just didn't feel like writing everything in past perfect (that's what it is, right? 'had done' etc?)**_

**_Also, I'm not sure if it was clear, but I think Ron gave Hermione a bottle of perfume in fourth of fifth year. Or maybe it was in a fanfiction - but anyway, in this story, I imagine that the perfume she's wearing when Scabior smells her is that same perfume Ron gave to Hermione. Just because it fits the slight romantic undertone in the film. _**

_**Hope you enjoyed! Don't be shy and tell me what you think (of this story or of the film, either one's fine by me ^^)**_


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